Cities
by Annuska Eileen
Summary: Formal events were unappealing to her. Such slow momentum and encouraged socialising put her lively spirit into a restless unease, and if it were not for her job's sake, she would have left the gathering in a heartbeat.


**Copyright Notes**: Characters, references, Sly Cooper series, et cetera (c) Sucker Punch.  
**Author ****Notes**: Set during Honour Among Thieves, sometime between Episodes 4 and 5. Slight spoilers. This has been sitting unfinished on my computer for far too long, so (with some inspiration from Sly 4 - no spoilers for that game!) I finally finished it.

* * *

Formal events were unappealing to her. Such slow momentum and encouraged socialising put her lively spirit into a restless unease, and if it were not for her job's sake, she would have left the gathering in a heartbeat. Small talk was of no particular interest to her, and she wasn't one to dawdle in gossip. Other people were viewed with caution and great scepticism through her eyes, and she very rarely gave anyone the benefit of the doubt – actions were actions, words rarely justified them, and she had been played for a fool more times than she fancied to recall. Formal events, parties, social gatherings – all plays on the same boring, uncomfortable theme for shallow, two-faced people. The one good thing she could find in any of it was the occasional chance for a dance with a graceful partner. She had appreciated the flow of a tango since she could walk, and even before that, her small hands placed in the palms of her father, standing atop his shoes as he taught her each step and count. The dancing was what could make her stay aloft in such an unsettling situation, and it was no problem for her to find a partner; lines of men (and sometimes women) would stand awaiting a chance to impress her, and she would only waltz with the most sophisticated of dancers. Tonight, however, the guests had been asked to bring a date. She had declined, and was now the only one sitting alone at a table with two chairs.

Breathing out a sigh, Carmelita picked up her wine glass and swished the liquid around a little, then decided against it and put it back down. Even the drink seemed lacklustre and in desperate need of companionship. A finely aged cheese or crusty bread could do the trick. She stared down at the wine glass almost challengingly. _I _don't _need a date_, she told it silently, _I need a way out of this wretched place_. She wasn't undercover, but she wasn't introducing herself as Inspector Fox, either – a typically mundane request to supervise an expensive party with an expensive unveiling of this or that and expensive guests, agreed to for lack of field work to do. She thought she might have a chance at some action, but she was now wishing she had stayed in the office; even a game of computer solitaire seemed more exciting than _this_.

"_Pardon moi, mademoiselle_."

Carmelita looked up from her glass to find a gloved hand reaching for hers, and she gasped a bit as she looked upon the stranger's face.

"I've come to request a dance, Miss Fox. You seemed lonely, sitting here by yourself. Not to worry – I'm more than qualified for your _very_ high standards."

Before she could protest, she was whisked away from her seat, away from her drink, away from her trusted shock pistol. As the man led her into position for a waltz, she began to half-speak-half-yell the first syllable of his surname, but he placed a finger to her lips and spoke softly.

"Shh. I'm only here to dance with you. No need to ruin everyone else's fun, now, is there?"

"Oh, _shut up_, ringtail," she hissed.

Sly let out a small giggle. "How I _adore_ that fiery Spanish accent."

The band was playing a waltz she was quite familiar with, one she had learnt as a young child, and she gave him a questioning look. He merely grinned and brought her a bit closer to the centre of the dance floor. They moved in circles around other couples, and as the tempo of the song rose and fell, so did the speed of their dance without a single missed beat. As much as Carmelita was displeased to have been backed into a corner by the raccoon – _again_ – she had to resentfully admit that Sly was, indeed, quite a match for her. A perfect match, almost. After a small bit of thought, she decided she would suppress her need for an immediate capture, and wait until _she_ had _him _cornered for once before tasing and cuffing him. After all . . . she _had_ wanted a dance, and an escape from boredom.

"This is nice, isn't it?"

"It'll be much nicer when I have you behind bars."

"Aw, come on, Inspector. I thought we could just have a nice evening together for once. I even wore this lovely suit – though I saw that you noticed me immediately."

"Two times were more than enough, Cooper."

"No more Victorian get ups, then." Sly laughed softly, and reached up to tuck away a strand of hair that had fallen over Carmelita's face. She nearly recoiled, giving him quite a stare, but he simply continued to smile. "You shouldn't hide your eyes, really. You know, I wasn't kidding that night in Paris; they really are gorgeous . . . as are you."

"_Do_ stop," Carmelita said dryly.

"As you wish, my lady," Sly replied, ever unaffected by her sarcasm. Their waltz gained slight momentum as the tempo of the song transposed, the familiar tune swinging Carmelita back and forth between comfort and dismay. She loved the song and held it quite dearly to her heart – how did he _know_? The thief with whom she danced betrayed nothing in his gracious steps or amber eyes, and she couldn't help but feel a certain degree of frustration. He _knew_ her – and she knew him. Had it begun to border on obsession? She suddenly thought back to the infuriation she felt upon learning of his "plans" to "kidnap" a veiled bride only a few months ago in China, and thought further back to their first dance together in India, and before that, their kiss in Russia . . . . How did he always manage to distract her so well?

Why did she _care_?

"You don't trust anyone, do you?"

The question caught her off-guard. Her thoughts had begun to consume her, leading her eyes astray from the equally charming and antagonising kleptomaniac leading her in perfectly timed step, and she nearly fell out of it as brown eyes bolted back to his face, and if the question weren't enough to confuse her, his look was – not his typically patronisingly smug grin or his flirtatious smile that feigned innocence, but a tame, gentle, and almost _sympathetic_ expression, meeting her eyes with his own, and for a moment, she did indeed falter; felt something catch in her throat (her breath, perhaps), felt something toying with her emotions, mixing up logic inside her head. She brushed it off quickly, fell back into step as if she had never deviated from it, but refused him eye contact as she considered the question that had just been posed; she wondered whether he meant it to be rhetorical or expected an actual response from her, but more importantly, wondered now why _he _cared so much.

"I really don't think you do."

She couldn't say that she did.

"I'm sorry you _don't_ have anyone to trust," Sly continued. "I mean, I've got the gang – Murray and Bentley – I've never _not_ had them. Even as kids at the orphanage, it was always the three of us."

"It's unfortunate you dragged the people _you _trust into this _life_ of yours."

The masked raccoon had nothing to say in response to this. Inspector and thief locked eyes as the melodious background music faded, lowering hands as they came to a stop, reluctant to actually let go. Carmelita moved to pull back, but Sly caught her hand and she raised an eyebrow before relaxing and moving closer once more. The two fell into step again, but now that the nostalgic music had gone, Carmelita could _focus_ again, and she lowered her voice as not to raise alarm. "Where _is_ that gang of yours, anyway? I know the three of you and whoever else you're toting along have _something_ planned. What is there here to steal?"

"Only your heart, Miss Fox."

The inspector turned sharply, twisting the gloved hand holding hers along with her. Sly withheld a gasp and laughed instead.

"Hard to flatter as always."

"I'm _serious_, Ringtail," she said as she uncurled herself from him. The raccoon only shrugged.

"So am I. It's only me, Ma'am. I told the boys to treat themselves to a break while I came here and . . . made an attempt to apologise. I really didn't mean to make you _that_ angry back in China." He paused, and then added, "Only a bit."

"_Charming_." Carmelita began to roll her eyes, but found them looking straight forward again quickly as she found her lips caught up in a sudden kiss, and she had resolved even before realising that _no-good lying stealing conniving thief_ was there that she would _never_ fall for a kiss again, but there she was, melting into it and giving into her emotions and _no_ she wouldn't, not as she began to feel overwhelmed _no_ she pushed him away and wiped the back of her hand against her mouth, looking away before turning to leave. She _couldn't_ do this – she knew the feelings between them were mutual, but she couldn't _let_ herself have them, knowing that he was against everything she so strongly believed in. She couldn't let him think that she would surrender herself every time he kissed her. She couldn't let him keep _doing_ this to her – playing with her emotions, knowing that she would and _could_ love him if only they weren't from opposing worlds.

"Inspector—"

She felt him reaching for her shoulder, but she turned quickly and shrugged his hand away, lifting her eyes to his briefly. The look was familiar – he knew he had gone too far – but she wasn't going to accept it. She was _done_ wanting what she could never have, if he wasn't going to make concessions for her, and she was _done_ being toyed with.

"I'm giving you to the count of _five_ to leave before I raise an alarm."

"Carmelita, wait. Hear me out."

"One . . ."

Sly hesitated, but the message was clear. He glanced around, then turned back to see her facing away. He slipped something into her barrette.

"Call me."

Carmelita spun to face him again, opening her mouth to shout – but he was gone. She lifted her hand to her up do and pulled a thin, oddly-shaped trinket out, turning it over in her head and scoffing as she recognised it as one of his calling cards – except this one held a small, folded up paper between its ears. She opened it slowly, finding only a crudely-drawn cane reminiscent of Sly's. She began to crumple the paper up, but stopped herself, throwing it and the calling card into her bag before sitting down and taking a drink from her wine glass.

She decided it was time for a vacation.


End file.
